


you next to me (an escape from the world i'm in)

by iowa_knows_what_he_did



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:58:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23869183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iowa_knows_what_he_did/pseuds/iowa_knows_what_he_did
Summary: In which Lovett, a djinni, is ordered by Tommy to steal the Staff of Washington from Mitch McConnell. Jon helps.
Relationships: Jon Favreau/Jon Lovett/Tommy Vietor, Jon Favreau/Tommy Vietor
Comments: 9
Kudos: 31
Collections: Crooked Exchange 2020





	you next to me (an escape from the world i'm in)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [okaystop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaystop/gifts).

> This is loosely based on the Bartimaeus Trilogy by Jonathan Stroud, one of my favorite YA series that I’ve decided to reread in lockdown. Bartimaeus is pretty much the coolest djinni around, but Lovett could give him a run for his money.
> 
> I went down to the wire on this one, even though I tried so hard to get it done well ahead of time! World-building is hard, and I couldn't have done it without L - thank you for spending the time carefully pointing out plot holes and underdeveloped scenes. It's a testament to a good beta when you write 4000 extra words because of her influence. Thanks too to A for the second read and reassurance.
> 
> To my recipient, I love your writing so much. I'm grateful for your presence in the fandom. Even though this wasn't one of the AUs you suggested, I hope you will enjoy this YA-inspired AU anyway. I hope you enjoy this, because you deserve it!

It starts, as it always does, with a strong tug right behind his navel. 

“Fuck,” Lovett groans, as he pauses the video game on his TV, and hunches over, eyes closing. His hands clench on the fabric of the sofa as the force of the tugging increases. More invisible hooks seem to sink into his body, pulling him upwards.

He looks longingly at the edibles he had managed to snag on his last trip to the realm above as he’s pulled out of his world and into theirs.

He lands in the requisite pentagram with a clash of thunder, lightning flashing. He conjures clouds that shroud him in darkness, pulling them around himself like a cloak. His voice booms as he shouts, “Who dares to disturb me, the one who built the pyramids and the Great Wall of China, who defended Rome and Prague and Athens, who has survived plagues and famine alike?! Show yourself, weak mortal!”

The magician blinks once, but otherwise stands unmoved in the middle of his own conjuring circle, hands clasped behind his back, coolly facing the pentagram. (Lovett hates when that happens. The only advantage of being a djinni is occasionally terrifying humans. If he’s going to be constantly at the whim of magicians he is entitled to a little fun at their expense.)

Lovett sighs and dismisses the storm show with a wave. A snap of his fingers and a yellow, overstuffed, well-worn armchair clatters to the floor. He sinks into it sideways, throwing his legs over the side of the chair. “Alright then, come on, out with it. What do you want?”

“Are you Jonathon Lovett?” The man is all angles and sharp lines, his voice clipped and his words brusque. His steel blue eyes track Lovett’s every movement. His blonde hair is neatly coiffed, his suit carefully pressed with no wrinkles. It exhausts Lovett to think about how long it must have taken him to get ready for this summoning.

Lovett rolls his eyes. “You got me here, didn’t you? That requires knowing my name.” 

From his chair, he examines the runes in detail, looking for just one thing out of place in the spells.

“I assure you,” the man says, with easy confidence, “you will find nothing.”

“Nothing wrong with double-checking,” Lovett mutters, but he’s forced to accept the man is correct. The symbols are impeccably drawn, even if they are written in sidewalk chalk on the floor. His only hope of escape, then, is to force the man to step outside his circle, breaking the bonding.

Instead, Lovett turns his attention to the bedroom. It’s large but sparse. The bed is crisply made with military corners and a single grey blanket folded on top. Not a single thing hangs on the walls other than a mirror. The closet door, though ajar, reveals a wardrobe of only solid colors.

Even the man himself seems to have little life, tense as he is. His crisp black suit makes his skin look paler against the darkness, and Lovett finds himself caught between admiring the waves of his hair and his unwavering eyes. (But honestly, who put that stick up that magician’s ass to get his posture so rimrod straight? That can’t possibly be comfortable.)

Indeed, the only part of the room that displays any true sense of personality are the three bookcases filled to the brim with books, stacked haphazardly on top of each other once shelf space appeared to run out.

Lovett wishes he could run his fingers along the titles, use them as clues to understand the puzzle of a man in front of him. Maybe then he could get out of this damn pentagram, give the man a few Burning Hexes for his trouble, and head back home to his world.

“Jonathan Lovett —”

Lovett interjects. “Just Lovett will do, thanks.”

The man hesitates for a fraction of a section. “Lovett, I command you to steal the Staff of Washington from Mitch McConnell.”

Lovett swings his legs forward, planting them on the ground. “Hold up for a second there. Did you say Mitch McConnell?”

The man nods.

“Mitch McConnell, Senate Majority Leader?”

“Yes, I said that already.” The man’s voice carries a note of exacerbation.

“The fucking turtle man himself, Mitch,” Lovett mutters to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees the man’s lips twitch. “So it’s a suicide mission.” McConnell has conscripted hundreds of djinn to his service, for reasons both personal and professional – but all wholly nefarious. Lovett’s lost more than a few good friends to him.

“It’s not a suicide mission.” The man swallows. “I just want that Staff.”

“And I just want a million dollars!” Lovett parrots, with a grand sweep of his hand, and there — he’s sure he sees that twitch again. “How exactly do you propose I get this Staff?”

The man frowns. “That’s on you. Bright djinni like you, with those impressive credentials, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” 

He tosses a small coin onto Lovett’s lap. Lovett picks it up, turning it over to look for markings. There are none.

“Flip that three times if you need to meet to get anything: supplies, spells, whatever. I’ll summon you shortly after you signal.”

With a snap of the man’s fingers, Lovett can feel his form disintegrating, leaving the pentagram.

“Wait!” Lovett yells, as he’s disappearing. “What’s your name?”

The man grins, for the first time, wide and blinding. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

Lovett finds that, yes, he really would.

*****

Lovett transforms into a pigeon, swooping from tree to tree to peer inside the fancy homes on this tree-lined block in Georgetown.

One lovely, old brick house, illuminated by spelled floating orbs of light, seems to have no signs of life. Dust has even settled over pieces of sheet-covered furniture. Lovett scans the magical planes to ensure there are no alarms enabled.

Satisfied, he flies around to the back of the house, finding a small hole in a window screen on the ground floor. Transforming to a ladybug, he enters, before reverting to his normal form. (His normal form is, in fact, perfectly human-like, thank you, check your biases.)

Snapping his fingers, he calls forth Pundit, his pet imp, from their world. She barks at him once, a minor protest for being disturbed, before scampering up his clothing to nestle herself on his shoulder, burrowing into his clavicle. Her tail lightly circles his neck to hold her steady. He pets her furry head as he wanders through the home, ensuring that there are no traps he missed.

It’s clear it’s been unoccupied for a while, and it perfectly suits his needs.

He retreats upstairs to a large living room, with a widescreen tv and two couches in it. He stands in the abandoned space for a moment, before snapping his fingers. Several whiteboards on wheels spring up in front of him.

He twists his head in each direction, interweaves his fingers and extends his hands in front of him, knuckles cracking, and then picks up a pen.

Slowly, he starts sketching out the broad strokes of a plan: one for if the Staff is in the Capitol, and another if it’s in McConnell’s home. There are gaps to be filled in through surveillance and intelligence gathering: Exactly what defense mechanisms are found at each location? Who comes and goes? Who has access to which areas? What schedule does the Senator keep?

But really, the biggest hole Lovett cannot solve is once he has the Staff in hand, how does he conceal it for long enough to get away? A magical item like the Staff will emit a signature, a ready-made search signal for McConnell and his goons.

He stares at the whiteboards: no longer clean, but scribbled over with diagrams and equations. He waits for an idea to emerge from his notations, but none does. His fingers tap a staccato pattern against his leg.

Pundit woofs, and he sighs. “I know, I know. I’m stuck, huh?” He scratches behind her ear.

He does what he’s done for millennia when he can’t solve a problem. He calls for Jon to join him. 

He activates the pen symbol tattooed on his wrist, which will cause its twin to activate. It’s a clever piece of spellwork they managed to swindle from a famous playwright in exchange for ghostwriting his most famous soliloquies. (Occasionally, Lovett thinks, magicians aren’t completely useless, even if Shakespeare was a tad of a tosser.)

Jon arrives, a broad smile on his face, and immediately hugs Lovett. His embrace is warm, reassuring. 

Lovett already feels calmer by the time Jon pulls away, more ready to tackle the problem ahead. He hands over the pint of beer he’s conjured and Jon takes it gratefully, drinking a large gulp.“I always miss real beer down below.”

“Thanks for coming up,” Lovett says.

“Of course, I’m always here for you, you know that.” Jon turns to take in the whiteboards. “So, what are we looking at here?”

Lovett breathes in. Jon isn’t going to like this one. “I’ve been ordered to steal the Staff of Washington from Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell.”

Jon splutters on the beer, cupping his hand below his chin to catch the few drops that spilled out. It really ought to be illegal to make even that look good, Lovett thinks, and the joke is funny enough he says it aloud. “It really ought to be illegal to look good with beer dripping down your chin, Jon.”

“Never mind my chin, you’re WHAT?”

“I’m going to steal the Staff.”

“From Mitch McConnell.” Favs repeats.

Lovett nods.

“McConnell, who’s fucked us over for years and ruined countless djinn lives?”

“That’s the one!” Lovett says, voice filled with fake cheer.

“Lovett, do you have a death wish I don’t know about?”

“Yes, Jon, I asked for a tall, stern, weird-ass, military-esque blonde magician to call me up to his sterile apartment to compel me to steal a Staff. I definitely prefer this mission to the perfectly good edibles that are probably rotting on my couch as we speak.”

Jon holds up his hands, smiling. “Alright, alright, point taken. Any way out of it?”

Lovett sighs. “I don’t see how. His spellwork was annoyingly flawless and he barely moved an inch. There was no way I was going to get him out of his circle.” 

Lovett begins to pace. “And, alright, I don’t love the fact I’m being _ forced _ to do this, but you know what? Fuck McConnell. He enslaves hundreds of us into his service, forcing us to do his bidding, and you know as well as I do that he inflicts painful punishments whenever we don’t perform to his liking. Fuck the magician making me do this, but you know what? Fuck McConnell more.”

Jon puts one hand on Lovett’s shoulder – a heavy weight, but steady, solid. With his other, Jon snaps his fingers. Leo materializes, and Lovett breathes out, his shoulders unwinding. He knows he has Jon for the long haul.

“Alright, walk me through this plan, then.” Jon says, as Leo and Pundit curl on the corner of one of the couches together.

*****

When they come up for air hours later, they are bleary-eyed and exhausted. The rising sun bathes the room in pale gold. The sun beams reflect off the dust motes floating through the air, lending a fantastical shimmer effect to the air around them.

Jon falls back onto the couch, arm slung across his face. “Man, I always forgot how much being up here takes it out of you. Remember that Sahari crossing job? I slept for four days straight after that.”

Lovett snaps, and a venti Starbucks and large French Vanilla Dunkin materialize onto the table in front of them. “Drink up, then, and look sharp.” Lovett caps the markers. “We’re going to have to report to the boss man soon.”

Jon groans, reaching for the Dunkin cup. “So what’s he like, anyway?”

Lovett thinks for a moment, swirling his straw through the ice in the drink. “A mortician.”

Jon throws his head back as he laughs with his whole body.

They both study the whiteboards as they drink, looking for anything they might have missed. With the final suck on the straw, Jon puts the drink down. “You know, I think this might just work.”

“You knock on wood when you say that!” Lovett gasps. Jon dutifully knocks on wood. 

Lovett puts down his own drink, pulling out the coin. 

“Ready?” When Jon nods, he flips the coin three times.

The familiar, yet always unpleasant, tug behind his navel begins. He grabs Jon’s hand, pulling him along into the pentagram with him.

Across the room, the magician startles at Jon’s appearance, just nearly disturbing the runed lines but he recovers before he does any damage to his conjuring circle. (Alas! Lovett whines internally.) “Who the fuck is this?” He says to Lovett.

Lovett waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t mind him, he’s just a pretty face. Now —”

Jon toes at the chalk lines of the pentagram cautiously, before realizing they’re not armed for an interloper in the summoning. He steps over the chalk and walks towards the magician confidently, a blinding smile on his face. The man’s eyes go wide and his fingers twitch, one hand sliding inside his pocket, like he’s reaching for spelled runes, hastily.

Jon stands in front of him, hand outstretched. “Hi. I’m Jon Favreau, but some people call me Favs. Or,” he adds with a glance over his shoulder at Lovett, “a pretty face.”

The man hesitates for a moment, before shaking it curtly.

Lovett, meanwhile, gingerly feels at the lines of the pentagram, hoping the handshake might extend over the boundaries. He shrinks back when they’re clearly still armed, charges jumping from them like static electricity. No hope of getting free this time either.

“Alright, if you two are done bro-ing out…” The man flushes, a rush of red to his face. It’s the most human thing he’s done since calling Lovett, and he wonders if he can’t make it happen again. (Listen, Lovett tries to be a good djinni, he really does. But it’s fun to make humans squirm, sometimes. They deserve it. Also, it looks good on his pale skin.)

“Please, carry on.”

Jon starts. “We’ve come up with a plan that should work, but…”

“We need a lot in order for it to work.” Lovett finishes. He snaps his fingers, calling forth one of the whiteboards from the house. On it, there’s an abbreviated version of the plan, and a list of the items needed.

The man stays still inside his circle, but listens intently, all the while taking notes as Lovett explains.

As Lovett talks, Jon wanders freely around the bedroom, fingers tracing over the surfaces. He spends a lot of time by the bookcase, trailing long fingers down the spines of weathered books. Lovett ignores the twist of jealousy in his gut, and mentally plans to quiz him on the titles later.

The man nods once. “This should work. I’m impressed.” His voice is laced with a bit of surprise.

“Of course it’ll work!” Lovett bristles. “Magicians! Can you believe it, Jon? Honestly, the arrogance, thinking they’re better than djinn.”

“The old armchair and inability to sit correctly didn’t exactly inspire much confidence. There’s value to keeping both feet on the ground, you know.” While Lovett splutters in outrage, he continues. “Working together, I think we should be able to obtain all your necessary supplies within the week.”

Jon smiles from where he’s leaning against the magician’s desk. “I look forward to working with you,” he says.

“And I, you.” The man says, holding Jon’s gaze.

“Great, great, we’re all super happy to be working together, definitely not being _ conscripted _ into this _ against my will _ by someone who doesn’t respect my _ vast skill and intellect_…” Lovett mutters.

Lovett feels the familiar squeeze of spelled dismissal just as Jon pushes off the desk. “Say, what’s your name?”

“Tommy,” the man replies. “Tommy Vietor.”

Jon enters the pentagram as Lovett squawks. “WHAT! You tell him but you wouldn’t tell me?! This is homophobia, and someone’s going to hear about this —”

The man — Tommy, Lovett thinks, his name is Tommy — grins widely as Lovett and Jon disappear.

*****

Through hard work, and more than a few endless nights, they manage to gather the supplies and fine tune the plan in a little under a month.

Lovett thinks to himself if he never again has to morph into a bird, it’ll be a life worth living, plucking spare feathers off his clothes long after he’s transformed back. He spends his days rotating between the safe house — “the home you rudely commandeered,” Tommy interjects — and surveillance.

They regroup each night in Tommy’s utilitarian apartment: Lovett, confined to his pentagram and yellow armchair, Jon, irritatingly free to roam. Tommy’s taken to pulling two chairs into his own circle, and Jon often reclines in one. Lovett off-handedly notices that the pentagram and conjuring circle have been upgraded from chalk to sharpie. (The runes are, of course, still flawless. He’s coming to both appreciate and loathe that about Tommy.)

The first night, they start the spellwork for the Concealment Pouch. It’s tricky work, careful and precise, and Tommy has to do nearly all of it himself. Jon drags the desk from the wall into Tommy’s circle.

As Tommy bends his head over the surface, Lovett takes the opportunity to thoroughly annoy him.

First, he conjures music, softly at first, then playing louder. It’s Jon who groans first. “Are those lyrics seriously ‘Lovett or Leave It’? Where do you find these things?”

“Dance for me!” Lovett pleads.

Jon bangs his head against the wall in mock exasperation. 

“Come on Jon, I know you know how to dance. Don’t you remember that time with the maid in the castle? Oh, or that Spartan warrior, the one that was taller than you and coaxed you up onto his feet because you still were too short?”

When Jon still won’t dance, Lovett pulls out his secret weapon. “Don’t make me start talking about the ceremony you participated in with the tribe, where —”

“Alright!” Jon interjects quickly. “Alright, I’ll do it.” (The effort is half hearted, admittedly, but Jon still makes it look good. In repayment, Lovett only plays his song once more.) 

Tommy keeps his head bent over his work throughout the commotion, but a small smile graces his face.

*****

Lovett’s still muttering when he gets into the pentagram. “Fuck, it had to just be a goddamn open space in the middle of the house, no doors to close…” He paces up and down.

“Care to share with the class?” Tommy asks.

“It’s the layout! Everything about the patrol pattern and spellwork indicates something of value is being housed in the very center of the home. So Jon finally went to Town Hall and —”

Jon appears, then, with a handful of plans in hand. “Did you tell him yet?”

“I was about to.”

Jon spreads the maps over the desk. “That’s the center of the house.” Tommy studies the plans, where it becomes clear the room in question is an open two story living room, with a balcony rimming it, and only a single hallway heading to the only available exit.

“Well,” he says, after a few minutes. “That’s inconvenient.”

Lovett throws his hands up. “It’s more than that! It’s impossible! It’s stupidity! It’s the height of end stage capitalism — those were changes made to a historic townhouse, thank you very much — at its absolute worst! It’s —”

“It’s deeply concerning, to put it lightly,” Jon finishes. “But we just to have to distract —”

“Right, right, split them, right, but what do we —”

“Me, outside, like that time with the party —”

“Yeah, but more like that other one, with the clock, though.”

“Oh, right.”

Tommy watches, slightly baffled, before leaning towards Jon. “The clock?” he asks quietly.

Jon waves his hand. “Yeah, it turned into a whole thing, don’t worry about it. Just don’t mention Blank Blank in front of Lovett.”

Lovett shouts. “Do I get to rant about the Big Ben job now?!”

Jon ignores Lovett as he speaks, making notations on the diagrams of where patrols pass. Tommy listens to Lovett for a while, before muttering to Jon out of the corner of his mouth. “Do you ever get annoyed?”

Jon laughs and smiles at Lovett. “Maybe, but after two millenia, I just find it endearing.”

*****

They’ve been running through simulations, again and again, when Lovett makes Tommy laugh for the first time. It’s a source of fierce debate – what animal form will be least noticed, but provide ample protection in case of accidental spell triggering. 

“What about a cat?” Tommy offers. “They’re common, so they could be overlooked. They slink well in the shadows?”

Jon shakes his head. “No go, we got ahold of McConnell’s medical files. He’s allergic. You’d definitely be noticed.”

“I’ve got it!” Lovett waits until both heads are turned to him. “What could be more perfect for this mission but to embody the very essence of McConnell himself?” He spreads his arms wide. “A turtle!”

Jon laughs, immediately, as he always does. (Lovett absolutely loves him for being the easiest audience he’s ever had.) 

But both of them are startled and watch as Tommy laughs, the first one Lovett has ever managed to secure from him. “Your hubris is going to get you killed!” He gasps out between giggles.

“Ah, but what a way to go, you know?” Lovett says, and wonders what else he could do to get Tommy to laugh again.

*****

“Are you familiar with the legend of the Staff of Washington?” Tommy asks one night.

Lovett isn’t, but he’s not about to admit ignorance to a magician. Jon is not nearly as self conscious, and easily admits his ignorance. (Lovett thinks having a face that pretty must help.)

Tommy paces in the small distance afforded within his circle. “Legend has it that Washington believed that the magicians who controlled society needed a powerful magical conduit. He felt the geographic distance between the states would allow lawlessness to thrive where citizens were out of the reaches of the magicians in power. So, he created the Staff, and embedded in it all of his own magical powers, leaving the strongest magician perhaps ever seen on this continent an ordinary human.

"But as he was creating the Staff, one of Washington’s slaves asked a djinni for help. She used not a pentagram, or any type of force. She asked to be heard. She explained slavery, and the men who controlled the helms of power in the Capitol treated both humans and djinn alike as subservient to their own ambitions. She worried that the Staff would allow them to widen their power.

“The djinni, moved by her story, snuck into Washington’s office. When Washington’s back was turned, he added but a single line to a rune. Washington never noticed when he resumed his work. The changed rune caused those who hold the Staff to become a slave to his own greatest desires, to be taken over by a singular focus of achieving the things they want most in life.

“Washington was so horrified by what the Staff had become he tried to destroy it, but every time he held it, it whispered sweet nothings in his ears, telling him it was his life’s work. Instead, he hurdled it into the Potomac River, where it sank into the silt, never to be seen again for years, until McConnell dredged the river’s bottom for months and located it. He was already a corrupt man, but this – it’s ruined the country.” Tommy sits down and rubs his hand over his face. “We have to get it back.”

Lovett’s hand itches, wanting to comfort Tommy. He’s grateful that Jon sits on the edge of the chair and slings an arm around Tommy.

Tommy leans forward in his chair, elbows on his thighs. He studies Lovett intently. “You’ll have the spell cloth, but I doubt it’ll dampen its power. You’re going to have to resist the impulse to act on whatever it tells you.”

Lovett looks at Jon, thumb still lightly rubbing Tommy’s shoulder, and thinks he’s had years of practice.

*****

It’s as they’re crafting a replica Staff, laced through with a magical enhancement to shine the same way as the real Staff, that Lovett finally breaks.

“Why are you even going through all this in the first place? What do you want with this thing, if it’s so corrupting like you say?”

Tommy puts down the enhancement spellwork and rubs a hand over his face, blinking away fatigue. Jon squeezes Tommy’s shoulder briefly as he crosses the room to the bookshelf.

Tommy leans back, swiveling his desk chair to face Lovett. “McConnell is an asshole who uses any means necessary, including the Staff, to gain power, simply for power’s sake. I’d like to see a major source of his power taken away.”

“And? What does the world look like without McConnell in power?”

Tommy looks up towards the ceiling, pondering the question. “I guess in the end, I’d like magicians to learn how to do spellwork for themselves, to learn how to harness our abilities to actually better our society. How can we profess to be enlightened, to know what’s best for citizens, to craft laws and regulations to govern them, when our power comes from conscripting djinn into doing our dirty work for us? Instead of forcing djinn, we could collaborate on projects.” He looks at Jon who is mindlessly flipping through a Madison biography. “Like Jon is.”

Lovett stares at him pointedly.

“Don’t give me that, you’d hurt me in a second if you could get out of that pentagram,” Tommy says, and Lovett wonders when it was that that stopped being true.

*****

Lovett finds himself inventing new ways to torment Tommy in arguments when he gets bored on stakeout duty.

Jon hates it. He paces when they start needling into each other, interjecting with attempts to keep the peace. It rarely works.

Lovett does pick fights, but not because he truly thinks that Tommy is as reprehensible or immoral as he might argue. It’s the passion; Tommy lights up when he argues, his face animated. Lovett loves to watch as his mind quickly jumps from one thought to the next, mixing emotional lines with sarcastic quips.

It’s rhetorical magic he weaves, and Lovett likes to challenge him, to draw out more of it, just to see what Tommy can do.

“But even if you get the Staff, won’t it corrupt you too? I’m in your control, are you going to call up more like me?”

Tommy bristles. “Clearly I’m perfectly capable of interacting with djinn outside of pentagrams, given Jon’s here!”

“Sure, but it’s Jon, he’s the easiest to get along with. What are you going to do when it’s me? Or my buddies Ira and Louis, they’re handfuls. In the best way, but with the Staff in hand, will you be able to keep from lashing out?”

“I cannot imagine anyone more annoying than you exists in any realm, human or djinn.”

Jon dramatically throws himself across Tommy’s bed. “Oh my god, can you guys please just get along for once?” He sprawls, long and lanky, hands covering his face, his shirt riding up his abdomen a little.

Tommy stops mid-sentence when he sees him, seemingly losing the thread of the argument.

(Lovett doesn’t fare much better, if he’s being honest. But he’s had hundreds of years of experience at ignoring the way his stomach flutters when Jon looks arrestingly beautiful.)

Lovett is dismissed shortly after that, Tommy growling that he can’t work and listen to Lovett complain any longer.

Lovett waits for hours for Jon to come back after finishing assisting Tommy on the latest project, but he falls asleep on the couch before Jon returns.

*****

It takes a few days, and some of Jon’s help sweet-talking members of Congress, but Tommy confirms that the Staff is definitely without a doubt housed within McConnell’s townhouse, due to McConnell’s concerns his own party members would steal it from the Capitol to secure power for themselves.

“Thank fuck for that,” whispers Jon, and Lovett silently agrees. 

“How wonderful that McConnell trusts his own party members so little,” is what Lovett says aloud. “Hey, don’t you work in the Capitol?” he asks Tommy.

“I’m not a Republican, if that’s what you’re insinuating, and I think you know that after all these nights together.” Tommy stares at Lovett pointedly. Lovett shivers a little, remembering the times he’s been punished for his snark by Republicans in the past.

“Okay, so where exactly is it?” Jon asks.

“Inside his home.”

Lovett closes his eyes and imagines the boards, where they had written out McConnell’s schedule for the week. “Then we should do it tomorrow, he’s supposed to have a caucus meeting in the afternoon that will almost certainly run late.”

Tommy looks at Jon for a moment, and then at Lovett. Tommy’s lips are tight, but his eyes are soft. If Lovett didn’t know better, he’d think Tommy was concerned.

The silence hangs thick in the air.

“Well,” Jon says, breaking the calm. “Let’s do this.”

*****

Lovett, once again a bird, though a hawk this time for the improved eyesight over long distances, perches high in a tree on the grounds of St. Joseph’s Church across the street from McConnell’s townhouse. Below him, Jon in squirrel form deftly leaps from branch to branch.

The house is well-armored, both on the human and djinn planes. Defensive spells litter the house, strung like cobwebs across doorways, gathered like nets on ceilings waiting to drop down on the unsuspecting below.

There, on the second floor, Lovett spots the instructions for a clever energy shooting spell to knock an intruder unconscious. Another, there, just outside the kitchen, floor that turns to quicksand, pulling you into its grasp unless you know the secret password.

He follows the equations of the runes, looking for hidden variables that could spell unknown trouble, but calms when he spots none.

More concerning, though, are the conscripted djinn patrolling the corridors. His dejected peers wander the halls, spellwork woven into manacles around their wrists, ankles, and throat. It compels them to defend the house to the death. It makes Lovett furious and fortifies his will to get the Staff.

He notices friends in the bunch – there, Travis, just outside the living room, with no jovical smile on his face. On the third floor, Priyanka, her long hair loose and dirty, almost matted. Elijah, in the kitchen, forced to handle hot pots and pans with his bare hands as he prepares the food. Lovett grinds his teeth together and imagines the ways he’ll get revenge on McConnell. 

He thinks that maybe, after this, he might be able to convince Tommy to help him set them free.

At the heart of the house, in the two-story open living room, the Staff is displayed, emitting a cheerful golden glow that belies its destructive potential.

Jon climbs the branch next to him, chattering. Even his squirrel form has gap teeth, Lovett notices, and for a moment, he wants to see if Jon has gap teeth in every form he takes.

Instead, Lovett gathers his nerves, screeching as quietly as possible, signaling it’s time to begin.

He takes to the wind. High above the house, he transforms to an acorn, dropping almost impossibly fast towards the ground. It rushes up to him quickly, and he begs Jon to come, soon, please, before he shatters into pieces on the ground below —

A mouth closes gently around him as Jon’s squirrel form catches him in midair, before landing lightly on the window sill. Squirrel-Jon quickly shoves the acorn through a small opening in the window, before jumping to the ground below and scurrying to the back entrance of the house.

From this hallway, he can see the Staff glowing in the living room ahead. He transforms into a tiny turtle — Tommy’s giggles ring through his head — and plods down the hallway, slowly, carefully, keeping close to the wall.

He wants so desperately to transform into a faster animal, a cheetah, even a greyhound. The concept of slow methodical process down the hallway feels at odds with the way his nerves jankle every time he hears a sound.

Suddenly, Travis rounds the corner and Lovett freezes, neck retreating slightly into his shell, hoping the green-grey of his shell blends in with the shadows. Travis plods down the hallway Lovett’s in, but doesn’t notice Lovett; it seems he would hardly notice anything, Lovett thinks. His skin is rubbed raw underneath the spelled shackles. Lovett remembers the last time he saw Travis, mimicking famous human celebrities until breaking character, Travis’s whole body shaking with laughter.

He wants to take Travis by the shoulders and shake him until he wakes up, but he knows there’s nothing he can do to make this better for Travis or any of the others — other than get Tommy that Staff and convince him to free the djinn held hostage here. He continues forward, determination renewed.

Safe under the sofa at long last, Lovett takes a moment to breathe. Just a foot from him, the Staff glows. He waits until a patrol passes by, before emerging from under the couch and shifting into himself.

He pulls out the cloth Jon and Tommy had worked for days to weave. The runes shimmered on the surface, flashing silver and gold. In the course of their research, they’d come across cryptic warnings of the Staff “destroying” any djinni that dared to touch it. Lovett had called it hyperbolic. Tommy insisted on crafting the cloth to protect him; Lovett had called him a sentimental fool. Standing in front of the Staff, he’s glad to feel like he has a piece of Tommy with him.

Reaching out with the cloth protecting his hand, he snags the Staff from its display on the wall. The power jankles, his arm vibrating with it. Visions of bending the world to his will course through his head.

_ He could free all djinn from the service of magicians. _

_ He could ensure all humans are treated fairly, that magicians can no longer use their powers to treat commoners as subservient. He could punish them too, just slightly, just to see… _

No, Lovett thinks_. _

_ But what if he could bend just a few others to his will — images flash before his eyes, ones he’s pushed to the back of his mind, of Jon on his knees before him, looking up at him with reverence and lust, of Tommy, stepping free of his circle at long last and pulling Lovett into a devouring kiss — _

“Intruder!” The shout jostles Lovett free of the seductive visions from the Staff, and he whirls to see a magician behind him, pulling ready-made spellwork from a holster. He transforms into a wolf, the Staff gripped tightly between his teeth, just as a spell whisks overhead.

At a sprint, he slams through the back door. Thankfully, Jon is there, already running with him, transformed into a matching wolf with a replica of the Staff in his jaws. Behind them, djinn and humans alike flow from the house into the yard and spells hit the ground, sparking all around them.

They flee across the grass until they quickly hit Maryland Ave behind the house. Once they reach the road, Jon takes off to the left while Lovett veers right. He wishes desperately he could have reached out and grabbed Jon’s hand, squeezed and told him to take care before they split up. 

Behind him, a group has splintered off to follow. This part of the plan is simple: Run!

After what feels like hours, Lovett’s lungs burn, his legs shaky with fatigue. His paws are red, scraped raw from the asphalt, but he keeps running, desperately, taking more turns and hiding in corners, until he’s certain he’s shaken the last of the pursuers.

In a narrow alley, he transforms back into himself, and huddles on all fours behind a garbage can, knees tucked into his body, still breathing hard. He snaps his fingers, and the Staff shrinks to only two inches long. On his neck hangs the Concealment Pouch, spelled with intense cloaking spells.

He hopes Jon escaped the pursuers too, but he’s got the Staff of Washington and he needs to hand it off. The power whispers in the back of his mind, but more than anything, he wants to satisfy Tommy, the compulsion of Tommy’s orders tugging at him now that he has it in hand.

He flips the blank medallion three times. 

*****

He’s still on his hands and knees when he’s yanked into the pentagram, long since painted permanently on the floor.

Jon’s feet are the first thing Lovett sees, and he grabs Jon’s offered hand, scrambling to his feet. “Are you okay?” he asks, scanning Jon to ensure he’s uninjured. Jon nods.

Behind him, Tommy stands in his painted circle. Though on the surface he’s still, Lovett swears he’s practically vibrating with anxiety. “Do you have it?” he asks.

“No ‘thank you Lovett’, no ‘how are you Lovett’, huh?” Lovett sighs. “Yes, of course I have it.”

He pulls the pouch from his neck and removes the miniature Staff. With a snap, it reverts to its original size, still wrapped in Tommy’s spellwork cloth. Tommy’s eyes light up. The voice whispers to him even now. _ Give it to Jon, to let Tommy have his heart’s desire. _

Carefully, he passes it to Jon. Jon gasps when he holds it, and fights for a moment, eyes closed, before carrying it to Tommy.

Tommy grasps it with his bare hand, holding it with reverence. Lovett swears the glow from the Staff radiates through his body. A slow grin spreads across his face, and even now, Lovett faintly hears the Staff speaking to him. _ Good job, you made him happy. _

Jon slinks around Tommy, lightly trailing his fingertips over his body. His eyes are darker than Lovett’s ever seen them. 

Lovett wonders what the Staff is whispering to Jon. The darkness of his face scares Lovett. Will he hurt Tommy, then, setting Lovett free to return home?

_ Beg him not to. _Lovett stays quiet.

Jon circles until he’s standing in front of Tommy, fingertips still lightly touching above Tommy’s heart. Tommy glances past him at Lovett. “The legends are true.”

Lovett is scared at the depth of the storm in Tommy’s eyes. “What is it telling you, then?”

Tommy drops the Staff to the floor with a clatter, reaching out with both hands to seize Jon’s face in his large palms. His face is dark, and Jon has never looked so small in front of a magician before. Tommy looks like a simple twist of his hands could snap Jon’s neck — and he looks out-of-control enough to do it.

Lovett rushes forward, shouting, pleading with Tommy to let Jon go, to not hurt his best friend. Searing pain lances through his body when he collides with the pentagram walls, and he falls backwards, wrist twisting painfully under him when he tries to catch himself. Flames rush up around Lovett, unbidden, his anger taking physical form.

Tommy looks over at him, a single eyebrow arched, a smirk on his mouth. The blue in his eyes seem stormy, like the ocean waves during hurricanes. “Forgot that existed, huh?” 

He lets Jon go. “Get me the chalk, okay?” When Jon compiles, he kneels, studying the inked runes in his circle. With careful strokes, he loops on another line.

“Do you see that?” he calls to Lovett. “They make it so you’re free to leave, whenever you want. You just can’t leave the pentagram.” Lovett wonders if Tommy fears for his own safety if Lovett gets free, if he thinks that the Staff whispers to him, too, but whispers stories of violence and hurt.

(It doesn’t. Not even a little. _ You want to stay with them._)

Jon squeezes Tommy’s shoulder, and Tommy rises. “Do you feel it too?”

Jon nods. “Please?”

Tommy’s hands frame Jon’s face again as he leans down closer and their lips touch. Jon whimpers, pushing up on his toes to lean into the kiss more, hands grasping Tommy’s button down shirt to get leverage.

“Please,” Jon says, “More.”

Tommy takes one hand off Jon’s face and moves Jon’s hand behind his back. He whispers, “Give me the other,” into Jon’s mouth.

Jon complies easily, without hesitation, and Lovett realizes suddenly. This isn’t the first time.

Both of Jon’s wrists are dainty, easily captured in one of Tommy’s large hands. Tommy holds them there, against the small of Jon’s back, even as Jon flexes them, testing his circulation. “Okay?” Tommy mutters, and Jon nods.

On the floor of the pentagram, Lovett sits, overcome with the warring desires to run away and leave them to their intimate moment and to stay and be a part of it, even if it’s at a distance.

_ You could leave, _ the Staff whispers. _ But you want to get out of this pentagram and join them. _

He wants to know how this has been happening. He wants to know why he never knew. He wants to have been a part of it.

“Are you going to stay, Lovett?” Tommy asks.

Jon looks over his shoulder. “Please stay, Lo. I want you to. We want you to.”

_ You never wanted to go. You never want to look away either, from these beautiful men in front of you. _

He doesn’t know how to say it out loud, so he nods, and watches.

Tommy smiles, wedging his thigh between Jon’s legs. Jon ruts against Tommy, small gasps and moans escaping from his lips, while Tommy licks and kisses and bites at his neck. Tommy drags his hands down Jon’s back, whispering lightly, and Jon’s clothes disappear, revealing his stunning musculature. Lovett stares as Tommy tugs Jon’s earlobe between his teeth, and, with a hand on Jon’s ass, pulls him closer. Jon comes against Tommy’s leg, a wet spot spreading on Tommy’s crisply ironed pants, Jon’s mouth open wide on a gasp.

Jon sinks to his knees, then, eager. He pulls out Tommy’s cock. “Gorgeous,” he says. “Lovett, isn’t it pretty?” 

Lovett’s not sure how words work, but he nods. There’s no doubt: he wants Tommy was much as Jon does. Tommy flushes.

Jon’s tongue works just the tip at first, before he hollows his cheeks, taking Tommy in further. He reaches for Tommy’s hand, and puts it on his head. Tommy twists Jon’s locks between his fingers, pushing him down slightly. 

As Tommy’s hip movements become erratic, Tommy looks up from Jon, watching Lovett as he comes. Tommy’s face slides from a gasp to a smile after, and he turns from Lovett to Jon, lightly brushing Jon’s hair back from his forehead, tracing fingers along his cheeks. “Perfect,” he says.

Jon leans his head against Tommy’s thighs, eyes shut.

Tommy turns back to Lovett. “You stayed.” His voice has the same tender tone he used with Jon. “Thank you.”

Jon opens his eyes, and smiles at Lovett. “I’m glad you did. I wanted you to see Tommy, how beautiful he is.” Lovett tries to ignore the feeling of being left out, the feeling of hurt that something he wanted for so long Tommy got so quickly, the feeling that even if they wanted him there, they didn’t want him to be a part of it.

Even though if Lovett were out of this pentagram, he might just sink to his knees too…

But he’s not out of the pentagram, and they clearly don’t need him.

_ You want to leave, and nurse your wounds in private. You want to hurt them for hurting you. _

“Well.” Lovett says. “Not that I’m not grateful for a free show, but now that I’ve gotten you the Staff — and a fucking boy toy, apparently —” Jon sends him a hurt look at that. “I think I ought to peace out.” Lovett begins to disapparate.

Tommy stiffens, and Jon sweeps his fingers over Tommy’s leg, soothing.

When Tommy and Jon finally disappear from his sight, everything is blurry.

It’s only when Lovett lands in his own home he realizes it’s because of the tears falling from his eyes.

*****

He’s home now.

Listen, he’s not pouting — he’s not! — he’s just thinking a lot. Thinking about how he got tricked into thinking Tommy was a better magician, a magician searching for enlightenment, working towards a better world for djinn and humans alike. A better magician, who wouldn’t use one djinni to run his errands and another to fuck.

Magicians, he thinks with contempt, are all the same.

He ignores the fact that Jon hasn’t returned home, that he’s still up above, even though no compulsion binds him to that world.

He ignores that he’s set the blank coin from Tommy on the mantle, in a position of prominence in his home.

Nothing seems to hold his attention. Even as he plays video games, he finds himself drifting back to the feeling of being sprawled on the floor, watching the hottest scene unfold in front of himself.

He’s not proud, but sometimes the only way he can sleep at night is to wind his hand into his boxers, and seek release as the scene dances in front of his closed eyes.

He receives a letter from Jon and Tommy, apologizing. It says what he expected. They were together and when the Staff encouraged them to do what they wanted most, well, they wanted each other. (He’s still not clear on where he fit in, other than maybe the Staff made them include him. Because of Lovett’s own selfish wants.) They apologized, and Jon wants his best friend back.

He’s home now. And, okay, maybe he’s pouting a little.

Pundit whines at the door. Lovett knows she’s looking for Leo, that she’s rarely separated from her imp brother for more than a day or two at a time. 

Lovett coaxes her away from the door, letting her twist her tail around his neck, and squeeze periodically, as he strokes her head.

“He’ll come back soon. He’ll get bored with a human. They both will.”

He doesn’t think about how he’s not sure he will ever be able to look Jon in the face again, now that he knows what his face looks like during an orgasm, without wanting to be the reason for it.

*****

Lovett is sleeping on the couch, curled under a blanket, when he’s shaken awake.

“Lovett! Please! Wake up!” The desperation in Jon’s voice wakes him faster than any Diet Coke ever could.

He sits up, blinking back the last remnants of sleep. “What is it?”

Jon pulls him up, towards the human world.

When they emerge, they’re crouching high up on a balcony, looking down into a room that Lovett realizes is McConnell’s living room, the very same room from which he stole the Staff.

In the middle of the floor, Tommy is pinned on his back, djinn obediently holding down his wrists and ankles, laughing as he struggles in vain to free himself. McConnell stalks around him, Staff radiating brightly in his hand. He sends spells at Tommy occasionally, ones that whisk past his skin, stinging without leaving lasting marks. McConnell sneers and laughs each time Tommy jolts in fear of a spell hitting him.

Lovett realizes, then, that he’s unconstrained by any magician. He could blow this room to pieces, destroy McConnell and the Staff, rescue the countless djinn controlled by him in one sound blow.

He could, but…

Tommy’s eyes, blue and wide and defiant, too, even as he fears for his life, meet his.

He could blow up everything and everyone in this room, but he loves Tommy too much to do that. (Plus, he reminds himself, Jon loves Tommy, and Lovett loves Jon.)

Instead, he reaches out his hand for Jon, and squeezes twice, a long-since developed shorthand for I’ve-got-a-plan.

It would be more accurate to call it a symbol for I’ve-got-a-halfass-idea-that-may-or-may-not-work-or-could-just-get-us-all-killed, but… well, Jon and him don’t have a shorthand for that yet.

He transforms into a spider, scurrying down the wall and squeezing through the doorway to the other side. In the hallway, he transforms into a lumbering form in an ill-fitted suit, thinning hair swept carefully over his skull. His face is caked in orange foundation, and he’s not sure he’ll ever feel clean again, but it’s for Tommy.

He enters the room without knocking. “Mitch!” he exclaims. “What fun are you getting into here?”

McConnell whirls around, Staff trained for a moment at Lovett. “Ah, Mr. President! How lovely for you to grace my home with your presence. How can I help you?” (McConnell makes no attempts to hide the staff. Apparently even he thinks the President is too dumb to recognize its significance.)

Jon takes the opportunity then, as Lovett had hoped he would, to drop down from the balcony while casting a silencing spell. His full weight lands on the djinni holding Tommy’s left hand, while he kicks the one holding the right in the head, knocking him unconscious.

Tommy sits up then, and they both begin to struggle with the djinn at his ankles, whose faces are bulging grotesquely as they try to sound an alarm, even though Jon’s spell is strong enough to prevent them.

Lovett seeks out anything to distract McConnell longer. “Where’s my gold Mitch? You promised me votes and power and that I could control all the banks.”

“Yes, of course Mr. President.” McConnell practically simpers. “But things are proving trickier than I anticipated. I, uh, lost some time because of a misguided interloper. That’s what I was tending to here.”

McConnell starts to turn, and Lovett realizes he’ll see Jon and Tommy then, and he can’t, he can’t let him see them. So in a last ditch effort, the visage of the President slips away and Lovett transforms back into himself. 

McConnell staggers for a brief moment, before narrowing his eyes and lifting the Staff. “You! You’re the one who stole my Staff!” The power gathers at the end of the Staff, before blasting out of it almost impossibly fast, the blue charge hurtling at light speed towards Lovett.

He’s vaguely aware of hearing Tommy roar and sees Jon turn, just as the spell hits him. He wonders, for a moment, why it doesn’t hurt.

The spell spreads, a sensation of sticky goo against his skin. He’s frozen in place as it inches its way around his body, covering him completely until none of him is exposed.

Suddenly, it hardens and expands, pressure pushing inwards on Lovett’s body, hard and steady and slow. It hurts, a dull pain everywhere, and he wants to scream but he can’t.

He can’t even speak, he realizes, and he thinks about the great irony in that. He will be ended by suffocation, unable to sweet talk his way out of this one, when it’s gotten him out of so many scrapes in the past — charming a guard, arguing with a magician, debating other djinn — suffocation, how very human of him, in the end —

And then the goo encasing him explodes outwards, shattering, and he collapses to his hands and knees, gasping for breath.

Hands frantically brush over his back, before gripping his shoulders, coaxing him backwards onto his heels, tilting his face up. Jon kneels in front of him, tears in his eyes. “Oh my god, Lovett.” His fingers dig into Lovett’s shoulders. “I thought I lost you.”

“After two millenia?” Lovett sags forward and presses his head against Jon’s chest. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Jon laughs helplessly, the sound wet, and pulls him closer. Lovett feels the sensation of the environment shifting around them, but he keeps his eyes shut. He trusts Jon to bring him somewhere safe.

Footsteps startle Lovett out of his terror-induced inertness, and he looks up to see Tommy looming over them, Staff in hand.

Lovett instinctively shirks away, his lungs still burning with the memory of being encased, and Tommy flinches, also stepping back. Tommy’s knees hit his bed and he stumbles for a moment, nearly falling.

Tommy stares down at the Staff in his hand in horror.

“Hold him close,” Tommy says to Jon. Jon nods and tugs Lovett closer, as Lovett shakes involuntarily against him.

In one swift motion, Tommy slams the Staff down over a lifted knee, a whispered strength spell lending him extra force.

It shatters, exploding in a long shower of splinters and fragments of magic; Jon tucks his head down against Lovett’s shoulder, shielding his face. But Tommy stands tall, even as the wood pelts him, drawing little spots of blood.

Tommy stares down at his hands, long after they’re empty. Lovett imagines how the Staff must’ve fought back, filled his mind with images of the world he could create with its power.

It’s, perhaps, the most human Tommy’s ever been to him — and the most beautiful.

“Are you okay?” Lovett asks.

Tommy blinks, as though coming up from a trance. He nods at Jon and Lovett, walking somewhat shakily over to the wall on the opposite side of the room.

He sinks slowly to the floor, head held in his hands. “I had to. I thought you were gone,” he mutters into his hands, the sound muffled. 

Lovett’s never seen him so raw before. He pulls back from Jon’s warm embrace. “I’m fine,” he says when Jon protests. “Go, he needs you.”

Jon frowns, studying Lovett’s face. Whatever he sees there makes him shake his head. “You idiot. He’s talking about you.”

“Oh.” Lovett turns his head to look at Tommy who’s staring back at him, eyes swimming with tears. “But…” He waves his hand half-heartedly between Jon and Tommy.

Tommy’s voice is matter-of-fact as he explains. “Yeah, I love Jon, but… I love you too. I fell for two djinn who could kill me in seconds if they wanted, and I don’t care.”

“I don’t want to kill you.” Lovett answers, reflexively, and winces, wishing he could have thought of something more meaningful to say. Jon laughs though, always willing to indulge him, and pushes a little on Lovett’s shoulder, urging him in Tommy’s direction.

Tommy watches carefully as Lovett walks over, eyes a little apprehensive. Jon follows Lovett trying not to hover, but failing miserably.

He mirrors Tommy when he slides to the floor, his back pressed against the wall and his legs pulled in close. He tilts his head back against the wall. “I mean, in the beginning you were a pain, and you’re a magician, so maybe I would’ve liked to hurt you a little then, but not now.”

Tommy laughs a little. “That’s fair, I guess.”

Jon scoots closer, practically panting with eagerness. Lovett wonders for a moment if he got to be with Tommy, would that mean he gets Jon too? Are they a package deal?

“Can I?” Lovett asks, nodding to Tommy’s hands, speckled with blood.

Tommy places them in Lovett’s. He studies them closely, touching them with the utmost care, before snapping his fingers. A washcloth appears, with some soapy disinfecting soap on it.

Softly, he runs the cloth over Tommy’s hands, apologizing each time Tommy winces slightly.

“How did you even do that?” Jon asks, and Lovett looks up at Tommy’s face. (What do you want? He thinks.)

“What I wanted more than anything in the world was for you two to be safe. I don’t — the Staff corrupts what we want. Even as I broke it, it wanted…” His voice trails off. “I think the only reason I could break it is because I wanted your safety more than any of that.”

Lovett swallows against the emotions welling in his throat. “You’re all set,” he says.

Tommy looks down at where his hands rest in Lovett’s, and then up at Lovett’s face. “I’m going to —” He stops, restarts. “Can I kiss you now?” 

Lovett glances at Jon first, who nods, before Lovett leans forward, pressing his lips against Tommy’s. His lips are softer than Lovett expected.

A hand on his ankle, squeezing gently, causes him to reluctantly pull away from Tommy. “I, uh, I don’t know how you feel...” Jon’s voice is tentative, trailing off. 

Lovett interrupts him. “Hey, Jon, I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I met you.”

Jon grins and reaches out, tugging Lovett towards him. He’s still smiling when their lips meet, and objectively, feeling someone’s teeth against his lips shouldn’t be attractive, but Lovett can’t help the giddy laugh that bubbles up.

Jon pulls back just a fraction. “I’ve been in love with you since you mislaid that stone and toppled a weeks’ worth of the Great Wall,” he whispers against Lovett’s lips.

“I’ve got you beat. I’ve been in love with you since day two, I think, when we were working on the riddle the Sphynx gave us. The first time I made you laugh so hard you inhaled sand and coughed for like ten minutes.” Jon wrinkles his face at Lovett’s words. “It was gross and undignified and you still looked so beautiful.”

Jon leans forward, capturing Lovett’s lips again. Tommy’s hands rub down Lovett’s back, before diving underneath his waistband, seeking out the smooth skin. When Tommy grips his ass firmly, squeezing, Lovett gasps.

Jon grins, tugging Lovett up from the floor and pressing him against the wall. While Jon kisses along his jaw, nipping at the soft skin of his neck, Tommy stays on the floor, kneeling. He takes advantage of his position by tugging down Lovett’s pants and boxers in one swift motion.

Tommy stares up at him, maintaining eye contact as he licks the sensitive head of Lovett’s dick, before taking him into his mouth. Lovett wants to buck his hips, but Tommy throws a single arm across his lower abdomen, and presses, keeping him from moving. “Stay still,” he mutters.

Jon pulls Lovett’s shirt up and over his head, before ducking to run his tongue around a nipple. The variety of sensations from hands and lips and teeth and tongues on his skin are almost too much for Lovett to deal with.

Lovett whimpers, twisting one hand in Tommy’s hair. “You’re going to have to stop if you don’t want this over embarrassingly quickly, and I kind of want to do more.”

Tommy grins up at him, before pressing one last kiss against Lovett’s cock and getting to his feet. “Alright, then, djinn of mine — show me your worst.”

Jon takes Lovett’s hand and squeezes it twice, grinning as he uses their non-verbal cue. (Please, Lovett thinks, I can’t wait to see what your plan is.)

Tommy has the good sense to at least appear apprehensive as Jon grabs his wrist and tugs him over to the bed, pushing him to land on his back. Jon makes quick work of Tommy’s crisply ironed white shirt, pushing it back and letting it twist around his wrists. 

When Tommy tries to sit up to free them, Jon pushes him back, effectively pinning Tommy’s hands underneath him. “Stay there, okay? Just let us help you feel good.” Jon sets his teeth against Tommy’s pecs, nipping at the skin before soothing over it with kisses.

Lovett quickly pulls off Tommy’s pants and underwear. Lovett crawls between Tommy’s spread legs. He licks at the slit of Tommy’s cock, tasting the precome there, before holding the base of Tommy’s dick and pulling him into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks. With his other hand, he squeezes Tommy’s ass, before letting one finger trace along his crack, circling his hole. Tommy gasps as his cock twitches, and Lovett snaps his fingers, conjuring a bottle of lube.

Slicking up a finger, he pets over the hole first, getting it messy and wet, before slowing pressing against it. Tommy opens up easily under him, and the loud gasp he hears is reward enough. He moves his finger gently, twisting it and pushing in and out slowly and easily. 

When Tommy can comfortably take that, Lovett slicks up a second finger, sinking them both into Tommy. Each sound Tommy makes is a revelation for Lovett — proof that this is happening, that Tommy wants this, wants him.

When he’s stretched and prepared, Lovett looks to Jon. “You ready?”

“After all that work you did? He’s all yours.”

“Please,” Lovett says, as he coaxes Tommy onto his hands and knees. “Be my guest.”

“Would someone please,” Tommy mutters, “please just fuck me already?”

“You heard the man.” Lovett winks at Jon as Jon spreads the lube over his own cock before pressing inside, slow and steady. 

“Oh, Lovett, you are missing out. Fuck, Tommy, you’re tight.”

Lovett kisses Tommy’s face as he gasps. “Did you hear that? Jon loves this. You’re so pretty, our magician.”

Tommy grasps Lovett’s thigh. “Please…”

Lovett nips at Tommy’s ear and whispers, “Do you need my cock too?” Tommy whines and nods.

Lovett slides his into Tommy’s mouth, petting his hair. “Your mouth is perfect.” He runs his fingers around the way Tommy’s lips are stretched around him. “You love this so much.”

“Wow,” Jon says, “he really does,” slapping Tommy’s butt while Tommy moans around Lovett.

None of them last long, in the end. Lovett is entranced by the way Jon’s abs ripple each time he pushes into Tommy, the way Tommy’s shoulders flex and ripple as he steadies himself from the momentum. Lovett slips in and out of Tommy’s throat and when Tommy hums around him, Lovett comes with a shout. 

He kisses Tommy deeply after, tasting himself on his tongue. “What a good little magician you are.”

Jon reaches around to take Tommy’s cock in his hand, twisting along it as he slams into Tommy harder and harder. Lovett helps, twisting Tommy’s hair in his fist and yanking it back. He sucks marks into Tommy’s exposed neck as Tommy comes, moaning. It tips Jon over the edge and he spills into Tommy.

Pulling out, Jon goes to the bathroom to get a washcloth. While he cleans up Tommy, Lovett traces the strong cheekbones on Tommy’s content face. Tommy, completely worn out, reclines against the pillows, Lovett tucked up next to him. Tommy’s eyes are closed, his mouth in a small smile, as Lovett runs his fingers along the fair eyebrows. 

Tommy blinks his eyes open. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey yourself,” Lovett replies. Jon crawls into bed behind Tommy, reaching his hand across Tommy’s body to hold Lovett’s hand, twisting their fingers together. He brings it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to Lovett’s knuckles, before resting their joined hands on Tommy’s hip.

“So,” Lovett says, a little hint of trepidation in his voice. “You’re the first magician I’ve slept with.” He turns to Jon here. “Does this make me sorcero-sexual? Magi-curious? Human-sexual? What terminology exists for this?”

Jon laughs. “I think it just makes you —”

“Mine.” Tommy finishes. “Ours,” he corrects.

“I thought you hated me this whole time, you know,” Lovett says to Tommy.

“I did.” Tommy eyerolls when Lovett splutters. “Or, I hated how much I didn’t hate you.” He looks over his shoulders at Jon. “I think Jon only kissed me the first time to get me to shut up about you.”

“Oh really?” Lovett waggles his eyebrows.

Tommy laughs. “God, I’ve created a monster.”

“He kept talking about how annoyed he was, that you wouldn’t listen to him, but it was going to get you killed, because obviously this was the only way to keep you safe, yadda yadda.”

“And so he kissed me.” Tommy finishes.

“I was so jealous at how much Tommy liked you. I liked him and I liked you and I wanted to be a part of it.” Jon rubs his thumb over Lovett’s and kisses Tommy’s shoulder.

“I just —” Tommy twists his hands. “That night. I’m sorry.”

“We’re sorry,” Jon corrects.

“The Staff — I wanted you to join, I thought you’d want to, and I wanted to show you what you could have. I would never do it that way now.” Tommy’s voice is sincere.

“Me either. It kept whispering, little tendrils throughout my mind, and it seemed so logical. I just wanted you, and I wanted Tommy, and you were both there. We shouldn’t have made you stay.” Jon squeezes Lovett’s hand. “We’re sorry.”

Lovett falls back against the pillows, looking up at the ceiling, before rolling back to face them. “Tommy, you made sure I could’ve gone. You didn’t force me to stay. I wanted to be there and the Staff kept telling me to stay too, and —” Lovett hesitates. “It wasn’t until later that I started thinking maybe the Staff was helping you to rub it in my face that you two have each other and I didn’t.”

Jon’s hand squeezes Lovett’s. “You have me. Now, I mean.” Lovett squeezes back.

“For what it’s worth —” Tommy clears his throat. “For what it’s worth, you have me too. Both of you. If you want. But I won’t make you stay here for me.”

Jon and Lovett look at each other, before shuffling closer to Tommy. Jon hooks his chin over Tommy’s shoulder. “You’re not making us.”

Lovett presses his hand against the wide plane of Tommy’s abdomen, marveling at how small his hand looks against it.

And yet, with a snap of these fingers, Lovett could unleash anything he wants.

If he wanted, with a snap of his fingers, he could leave right now.

“We’re choosing to stay,” Lovett declares. Tommy looks at him, blue eyes sparkling with hope. “We’re choosing you, and that makes all the difference.”

If he wanted, he could leave. 

But he doesn’t want to.


End file.
